Summer musing

I was both your umbrella and your rain,

Your wound and your pain.

I was a juxtaposition that brought stability to your life,

I was a juxtaposition that brought you nothing but strife.

You were my refuge, I could hide away in the soft curls of your hair,

You loved me when I least deserved it, you sheltered me from every nightmare.

I am your summer rain, allowing for a burst of sunshine and then gone again.

You are not just my summer but every season.

You are not my excuse, you are my reason.



Reverie, Reignited

She is my reverie,

I am her memory.

She is my heartbeat,

I am her afterthought.

She is my smile,

I am a wrinkle on her forehead.

She is home,

I am a crack in the wall.

She is my journey,

I am her punctured tire,

She is my greatness,

I am her misunderstanding.

She is my reverie,

I am her tragedy.

I am her purgatory,

She is my redemption.



It was about reading between the lines, it was about the intricacies. It was about the subtleties that hid themselves so explicitly within the complexities. A juxtaposition of images with a cutting word in between. You were almost like a haiku: said so little, but meant so much. Just when I reach a moment of clarity; it’s over, nothing left to touch. A bitter aftertaste, so much potential, but such a premature ending that everything ended up as waste.


Best and Worst of times.

White flags pierced by bullet holes.
Words of peace marred by ink of blood
Tears of mothers awash in the free flowing funeral flood.
Families at the dinner table fighting for a slice of money,
The taste of riches so sweet, no one smelt the poison in the honey.

It was a time when bright were the shadows and dark were the souls,
It was a time when deceit and dishonesty were the only two goals.

Yet hope wafted through the charred remains of morality.
It evaded evil and brought to the innocents some semblance of sanity.
It demasked the devils so comfortable in disguise.
It refocused the weary on the ultimate prise.

Yes, this was the best of times.
Yes, this was the worst of times.

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“You don’t love me, do you?”

I could love you. I could, if I opened myself up to the possibility, serenade you with affection that knows no bounds. I could celebrate and cherish your brilliance. I could allow myself to be mesmerised my your never ending ability to amaze.

I could stare at you, until the battery of my internal clock runs out. I could find myself by becoming lost in your piercing, yet kind eyes. I could intertwine my fingers with your smooth and elegant ones while occupying my remaining scenes on your delectable scent while sampling your taste by letting my lips linger on yours.

Yes, I could love you with my mind and body. But I deserve you not. You are worthy of much more, for angels are not gratified my mortals.

Conversation; the beginning

Looking away from her, he stared
out beyond the glass that protected him from the vast expanse of the world. The intensity in his eyes was not carried by his tongue as he gently whispered “cruelty.” To a stranger, it might well have been a word of seduction with the way he caressed each letter.

She did not look up from her phone but chose to ask with measured indifference, “what did you say?”

“Cruelty” he said dismissively. “A word defined as causing someone pain, but put more simply can be defined by four letters. Letters that spell love.”

She let her phone slip and land on her lap. He continued staring into the abyss of lights and activity, unabated.

Is the right thing to do the best thing to do?

Somewhere along the path of making the ‘right’ choices and doing the ‘right’ things, it starts to become apparent that you’ve not made many mistakes but instead, you’ve made an enemy of yourself. Your emotions and instincts pleaded, explained, yelled to no avail while ‘right’ options presented you with cold, hard facts that you willingly embraced. You made decisions that led to career advancements while your social life was left to rot, like the once ripening, yet unpicked fruit.

Alternatively, somewhere along the path of making the wrong choices the image distorts anyway and you still end up isolating ‘you’ from yourself. You become a shadow of the right person, but perhaps your tryst with self defined hedonism was worth it, because when you fell and experienced a hard landing, recovery time allowed for you to create a new game plan, a ‘fool-proof’ plan.

I suppose, somewhere along the path, the trick is to realise that it is not about the ‘right’ thing or the ‘wrong’ thing. It is about finding a balance. It is about understanding our limitations, because contrary to popular belief, we cannot masquerade around in masks pretending to be what we are not. “Our ability to overcome our limits defines us” is what many people defiantly proclaim and these very people suggest that just as we reach our capacity we look up to the skies and the heavens above and realise our capacity is endless. However, we first need to understand who we are before we start understanding our capacities. We need to understand the ramifications the decisions we make have both on ourselves and those around us. Yes, sometimes, peace requires war but sometimes we just have to accept that; blindly indulging in the ‘right’ things may not be the best things. When you go to bed at night, you may rest your head on the most exquisite duck feathered pillow, but in order to achieve that you may have sacrificed resting your head across the body of a loved one.